


Then it was gone

by sonotadream



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Extra Treat, Gen, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:32:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonotadream/pseuds/sonotadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre thinks their place is haunted. Enjolras would prefer no mystical rituals at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then it was gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [furchte_die_schildkrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furchte_die_schildkrote/gifts).



> For furchte_die_schildkrote: you said you liked characters encountering the supernatural, so I hope this fits the bill.

"You know, I think this place is haunted," Combeferre announced suddenly one night.

Enjolras, embroiled in Sain-Just, didn't think much of it at first. "It's a old house, the wood creeks. And the walls are thin."

The only answer he got was a low, non-committal hum from Combeferre, but Enjolras wasn't paying attention by them.

He didn't give the matter any thought, until a few days later, when Combeferre woke him up in the middle of the night.

"Did you hear that?"

"What? What's happening?" Enjolras asked, disoriented.

Combeferre shushed him with a finger over his mouth. "Listen," he whispered. 

Indeed, there was some low sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once. After a moment, Enjolras began to think with resembled moaning.

"I think it's the neighbours."

"Are you sure?"

Enjolras shrugged. Since he was awake anyway, and inspired by what he imagined was going on over the walls, he thought they could use their time in a different way. Combeferre was easily persuaded and the matter was quickly forgotten.

By Enjolras alone. In the following days Combeferre would make a comment now and then, or interrupt what he was doing to listen intently, and Enjolras started to worry.

Specially after he found Combeferre and Prouvaire in deep conversation in the back room of the Musain one day. They were sitting close together, heads bowed, books strew around the table in front of them. Taking a quick look at the open pages, Enjolras saw a lot of mystical symbols and writing in an alphabet he didn't recognize. He stood there for a minute, vacillating on whether he should say something or not. In the end, he turned away and went to see Courfeyrac.

"But what do I do?" he complained, pacing the floor in his friend's quarters and refusing the wine Courfeyrac offered. "I know Combeferre has these flights of fancy sometimes, but how don't know how to handle this one. Prouvaire and him, they're planning something that can't be good. It makes no sense. I mean, ghosts?"

"Come on, Enjolras. Is it that serious? Combeferre has always been the curious sort."

"But ghosts? That's not," Enjolras struggled to find the right word, "rational. You have to do something."

"Me? No! I'm sorry, but what do you think I can do?"

"Talk to him, convince him this is ridiculous."

Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras down, so they were sitting together. Enjolras rested his head on Courfeyrac's shoulder, calmer now. 

"Is it possible you're taking things too seriously?" Courfeyrac asked, in his most reassuring voice. "Combeferre might just be having a bit of fun, exploring the unexplored."

"Maybe," Enjolras mumbled.

"You're know Combeferre. Every now and then, he gets obsessed with some new thing and it's all he cares about. Remember the month when he took that camera obscura everywhere?"

"Not the same thing. At least optics isn't a fairy tale."

To be honest, Enjolras was having some difficulty understanding why he was so troubled. True, when Combeferre got excited about the last scientific discovery, it was easy to see why. But ghosts were children's stories and in no way relevant to the betterment of mankind.

And probably not real, even considering his Grandmother's old stories.

"I'm afraid I'll arrive home and find him and Prouvaire in the middle of a satanic ritual," he confessed to Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac patted his head in response. "Well, you'll have to excuse me if I don't take you up on your offer to dine together."

Enjolras chuckled. He went home soon after, hoping he would find Combeferre alone and be able to discuss the situation with him.

Unfortunately, he found the place very different, close to something from a nightmare.

There were candles, there was a five-pointed star draw with chalk on the floor, and there was an animal skull on the middle. Combeferre and Prouvaire sitting at the points, along with Feuilly and Grantaire. 

Enjolras stood backed against the door for a long moment, taking in the scene. "What's, what's going on?"

They all turned towards him, Grantaire even giving him a cheerful wave.

"Enjolras! You arrived just in time," Combeferre said. "We need one more."

"One more for what?" Enjolras asked, afraid the answer included human sacrifice.

"To complete the circle. We're trying to communicate with the spirit haunting this house," Prouvaire explained.

"Oh." Yes, that made some sense. Didn't explain everything, though. "Look, I understands why you two are here," Enjolras said, pointing at Combeferre and Prouvaire, "and why you think this is a good idea. But Feuilly, Grantaire, and I can't believe I'm including you in this sentence, I thought you'd be more sensible than this."

"You think I'm not sensible?" Combeferre complained.

"And you think I can be?" Grantaire, on the other hand, seemed oddly pleased with the comment.

"Don't mind me," Feuilly said. "I always like to learn the ways the bourgeoisie wastes its time."

"And we're glad to be of help, "Prouvaire said. He turned to Enjolras, "Are you sitting down or not?"

Enjolras stared at the group, not ready to give up yet. "Combeferre, no, at the moment, you're being anything but sensible. And Grantaire, forgive me for taking your word, but I thought not believing in anything included this-" Enjolras almost didn't finish the sentence, not wanting to insult his friends, but he couldn't contain himself, "pantomine."

No one reacted to that.

"You know, I think we've disappointed him," Feuilly said.

"Speak for yourself, I was only attempting to be a good friend," Grantaire retorted. "One doesn't get invited everyday for a seance."

"Come and sit with us," Combeferre said.

So, Enjolras did. He had said his piece, it had done nothing and his friends needed his help. 

To communicate with a ghost, yes, but what could happen? The ghost wouldn't reply, certainly.

He sat between Combeferre and Feuilly , took their hands and listened to Prouvaire's instructions.

"Everyone, close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Concentrate."

On what, Enjolras didn't ask. If Grantaire could behave, so could he.

Prouvaire began to intone in an unknown language. It was a little mesmerizing.

"Is there any spirit here who wishes to speak with us?" he said, switching to french. "Please, if there's a spirit here, give us a signal."

A sudden rush of air put out the candles, the only light coming out from inside the skull.

"There's a candle inside the skull?"

"Shush."

Prouvaire spoke again, still calling to the spirit. Another gush of air made the light tremble and a loud, knocking sound came from outside the room.

"Was that-?"

"Someone dropped a brick," Grantaire guessed.

"Quiet."

Prouvaire called the spirit again. The knocking was louder this time, repeating itself several times; a stronger wind put the last light out and everything went quiet.

They sat in the dark for a while, until Feuilly broke the silence.

"Is that... all?"

"I think so." Prouvaire stood up and opened the curtains, letting some outside light in and breaking the atmosphere. A sigh of relief seemed to go around the room.

"Interesting evening, wasn't it?" Combeferre said.

"Weird and unsettling, I would say," Enjolras answered.

Grantaire laughed, stopping abruptly when everyone turned to look at him. "Are you serious? There isn't a ghost here."

"Not anymore, I don't think," Prouvaire said, distractedly.

"I hope not." The words escaped Enjolras by accident. He wouldn't call himself a believer, but the seance was a weird experience.

"No," Grantaire exclaimed. "Et tu, Enjolras?" He clutched his chest dramatically and Enjolras had to bit his lip not to laugh.

"You know, I never expected to live long enough to see Grantaire be disappointed with you," Feuilly deadpanned, sending a ripple of laughter through the group.

"Oh, you laugh! Poor Grantaire, being ridiculous as usual. Laugh all you want, you're living in a drafty place with noisy neighbours. And you believe it's haunted. Ah! Haunted. What a silly notion. I need a drink."

"Oh, me too. I'll walk with you." Enjolras disliked drinking, but sometimes a glass of liquor didn't seem such a bad idea.

Grantaire smiled at him, pleased. "My pleasure. As long as you give up some strange notions you acquired over the last hour," he added, unusually serious and wagging his finger.

Enjolras didn't mind. He was both pleased and amused to see Grantaire capable of holding any kind of conviction. 

"Wait, you're not staying to clean up?" Combeferre asked.

"No. I'm going out with Grantaire and try to forget this moment of madness."

Grantaire applauded his words, but Combeferre only said, "If that's what you want."

His calm could be infuriating sometimes.

He and Grantaire spent a couple of quiet hours together in a small cafe and Enjolras returned to an apartment free of any kind of sign of witchcraft, in higher spirits.

Looking back, it was easy to dismiss the evening's events as a combination of strange coincidence and the right atmosphere.

But, and Enjolras wouldn't admit this to anyone, there were no more strange sounds from that day forward.


End file.
